our pas de deux
by czqy
Summary: When Adora left hip hop crew to join the ballet team, Catra didn't take it well. To make matters worse, they're being forced to share the same studio right now. However, she comes to realise that the way she acts isn't how she really feels at all.


When Catra walks into the studio and sees _them_ leaping, jumping with their legs split in the air, with pointed toes and elongated arms, she wants to snarl. She does, actually. She eyes them while making her way to the other side of the room, looks at their leotards and tights and the girls' hair pulled up in buns, then makes a gagging noise. Someone glares at her, and she sticks her tongue out in retaliation.

The hip hop studio is under renovation, and for some reason, it was decided that they would share a room with the ballet dancers in the meantime. _Probably because they have the largest room_, Catra thought bitterly. Whoever made this decision must've been stupid, or blind, because anyone with eyes could see that the two groups did not get along. And to make it even more personal, Catra's closest friend—who'd stuck up for her in the beginning when others laughed at her movements, who'd stayed back to practise with her and help her get better—was offered a position on the ballet team because they thought she had potential, as if it was a promotion, and she _accepted_. Ballet dancers are no doubt snobby, Catra told her, with their tutus and pointe shoes and their chins tilted high and all their graceful movements.

"I'm sorry," was all she said. "They need help. I'm going."

Catra's eyes are naturally drawn to Adora now, as she warms up and does her stretches. The blonde girl wears a simple black leotard, contrasting against the coloured ones of the other dancers, which are fancy in other ways too, with mesh and lace and interwoven fronts and criss-crossed backs. Catra glances down at her own outfit, a baggy top tucked into trackies, and is thankful she gets to wear this and not anything skintight.

* * *

Once everyone is ready, Catra sets up the speakers and presses play. The music blasts loudly—Catra may have turned the volume up higher than usual—and it makes all the ballet dancers jump. She can hear them yelling at her to turn it down, but she just pretends not to hear. Besides, when it's louder they can hear each beat more clearly, and it helps them match their moves to the music. While they practise their routine, Catra makes mental notes of details to perfect, but just as they're about to move out of their canon, the music cuts out.

Most people go on anyways, however Catra stops short to see what's happened, and finds Adora on the side where the speaker is, bending down. Anger immediately flares up inside Catra. Adora has no business doing this, not when this is no longer her turf. Catra stalks up behind her, and waits for Adora to get up with her arms crossed. When Adora finally faces her, it's with an expression she's become all too familiar with.

Catra can't remember the last time Adora smiled at her. She can't remember the sight of Adora's face lighting up, her eyes twinkling. It's something she took for granted, because there's nothing bright in the way Adora looks at her now, like she's tired of this silent fight, like she didn't want to do this because Catra should've known better.

And the thing is, she does. Catra _knows_ she's being immature about this, she _knows_ she's being petty, but she can't help it. She can't stand those ballerinas and the way they think they're so perfect, and she _hates_ the fact Adora left her for them. Because really, that's what happened, isn't it? Adora abandoned their crew, and Catra was left to pick up the broken pieces. Adora claimed she was joining the ballet team because they were short a dancer, but what about them? _They _were now short a dancer, and they had a competition coming up soon!

It all worked out in the end, though. Catra proved she was just as good as Adora, if not better. She finished choreographing their piece, pushed everyone to practise harder, and they won the contest. But even after all that, the first person Catra wanted to tell of their victory was Adora. So, she's… confused about her feelings; doesn't know why she thinks one way yet acts in another.

The two of them stare at each other for a moment longer, before Adora walks away. Catra lets out a huff when she does, then makes her way back to her own group. Someone asks if they're going to continue, and she snaps out no; they're going to go over mistakes she spotted. If she turns on the music again, but at a lower volume, that's essentially admitting defeat.

* * *

The rest of class passes by uneventfully. Catra does eventually press play again, because they have to practise, and the heat from earlier has seeped away. It returns after class though, after she's packed up, when Adora approaches her.

Catra stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and waits for the other dancer to speak first.

"Look, I'm sorry." Catra has heard Adora apologise a lot, since leaving. It no longer holds the value it used to. "I wasn't trying to show you up. I just knew you wouldn't turn down the volume otherwise."

"Oh, like you know me so well?"

"Catra, you're my _best_ friend." The way Adora says it makes Catra's heart clench, and she doesn't miss the present tense either. But then she sees Adora resting her foot the way ballet dancers do, and decides she isn't going to have any of this.

"Best friend?" Catra scoffs. "Where were you when the others scorned me, then? You _know_ how they all feel about me. And they suddenly have to listen to what I say, just because you put me in charge. Do you know what I hear almost every day? _Well, Adora would— If Adora was here— You can't replace Adora—_"Catra is on the verge of tears, but wills herself not to cry. She won't; not in front of the very person causing them.

"I didn't—" Adora has the nerve to appear shocked; she's at a loss for words. Catra can tell she's debating something in her mind. And then, so softly, she says, "I never meant for you to be compared to me…"

But it's too late.

"Yeah, well it happened."

Catra turns on her heel and walks away, fighting against the urge to look back, to go to Adora and apologise for the way she's acted, to reconcile, to become _them_ again.

* * *

It's a day off, but Catra goes to the studio anyways, and isn't surprised at all to find that Adora's there as well. Once Catra spots what Adora's wearing though, she has to take a moment to calm the beating of her heart.

Adora's wearing the crop top that goes with the one Catra has on herself. They got it when they were younger as a symbol of their friendship, and the only reason they can still wear it now is because they bought it many sizes larger at the time, so they could 'wear it for ages and ages!'.

It throws Catra off, to be honest. They haven't worn it together in forever, and Catra didn't even know Adora still owned it. She tells herself it's for this reason that she keeps watching Adora today. Even while she goes over her dances, she looks at Adora in the mirror. After a while, she decides to just drop the act and openly observe her.

The worst thing about the whole Adora having potential thing is the fact that she actually does. It's entirely different, seeing Adora dance ballet compared to hip hop. For one, she has pointe shoes on, which is pretty crazy considering the amount of time she's trained. Catra can't help but grimace when she sees Adora up on the block though. It looks weird to her, but Adora?

Adora is beautiful. She's breathtaking. When she does piqué turns her ponytail follows in a perfect circle, creating a halo of sorts. When she does grand jetés, her body forms elegant lines, and she looks like an otherworldly being, really, suspended in the air.

Something inside Catra comes to life when she watches Adora, and as Adora curtsies, as Catra's watching absolutely awestruck, she realises exactly what this feeling is.

* * *

"You sure like staring at me a lot."

Catra jumps, and turns around to find Adora standing before her with a cocky smirk on her face. Catra wishes she could wipe it off. With her mouth. It's not her fault she keeps looking at Adora though. They had dress rehearsals today, meaning Adora is donning her costume—a leotard and pancake tutu, both white, with gold decorations on both. Her own golden hair is in a bun, contrasted by a silver tiara. Catra can't help but stare at her, she looks absolutely gorgeous. Like a princess.

"Well it's not because you're really pretty." Catra freezes. Adora does too, but she recovers quickly, glancing at Catra with that knowing look again. Catra drags a hand down her face, feeling embarrassed, albeit glad they're the only ones in the room. She wants to lie on the floor and let it consume her, but her attention is drawn to Adora's hand extended towards her. Now she's just confused.

"What, are you challenging me to a dance off?"

Adora simply rolls her eyes, and shakes her hand incessantly until it starts to drive Catra mad. "I mean, dance _with_ me."

"There's no way I'm being twirled." Catra takes a step back, and Adora moves forwards.

"Yeah? But I'm taller than you," Adora goes en pointe to demonstrate this fact, leaning over Catra, "so there's no way you're twirling _me_, which leaves one option." She smirks then, because she knows she's won, and Catra groans.

Catra takes Adora's hand, and they start to move. It's nothing choreographed, they simply listen to their bodies, naturally synced with each other. Catra leads Adora for a bit, and watches them in the mirror, Adora's light outfit stark next to Catra's black one. She stops, and Adora does a penché; her leg is lifted above her head and she tilts forwards, face millimetres away from Catra's. Adora's doing this on purpose, Catra thinks, because just as she leans towards her, she pulls back.

Then, Adora takes charge. She manages to get Catra to do pirouettes, supporting her by the waist, and Catra tries not to be overwhelmed by the sensation of Adora's hands on her, the heat she feels where their bodies touch. Adora gets to do her twirling too; she raises her arm, and Catra complies, spinning underneath. Then, she holds her arm out, and Catra rolls her eyes before twirling outwards then into Adora's arms. Adora dips her, which she was _not_ prepared for, and she lets out a squeak. Adora laughs, a sound Catra's missed.

When they straighten up again, they're incredibly close. Catra can feel Adora's tutu poking her. Her hands rest on Adora's shoulders, she looks into her sky-blue eyes, and comes undone. There's so much she wants to tell her, things she should've said earlier—in thanks, in appreciation, in apology. She doesn't know where to start, but before she can figure that out, gentle lips are placed on her own.

Adora kisses like the way she dances ballet. Soft, and flowy, and nice. Catra melts into it, lets herself go, and feels like she's floating. She believes this is what ballet dancers feel while in the air—weightless. There'll no doubt be kisses like the way they've danced hip hop too. Fast, and strong, and intense. But for now… this is perfect.

"And what's this dance called?" Catra says after, breathless. She rests her forehead against Adora's, and feels more whole than she has her whole life.

"This?" Adora pulls back, and holds Catra by her hands. "This is our pas de deux."


End file.
